


The Ring

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [65]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond is Suave, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Gift Giving, Girls with Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Photography, M is Sexy as Hell, Older Woman/Younger Man, Post-Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond brings M a most unusual gift, and earns himself a reward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by [this real life miniature gun](http://pers-books.tumblr.com/post/79872411792/peashooter85-rare-and-unusual-femme-fatale).  
> Spoilers: None - set between QoS and Skyfall.  
> Disclaimer: So not mine.

M stormed into her flat, banging the door behind her, then turned to close and lock it. She was in the worst possible temper after an excruciating meeting with the head of the JIC, who had raked her over the coals because of the latest exploits of one James Bond. The man was close to becoming a liability, and the fact that she was going to be forced to reprimand him just pissed her off even more. He was outstanding at getting the results they wanted, she just wished he didn't leave such a trail of destruction in his wake as he got those results.

She stepped out of her shoes, then stalked along the corridor and into the sitting room, intending to pour herself a really large Scotch before she considered doing anything about dinner. She was half way to the drinks trolley when she spotted Bond lounging on her sofa.

"Out!" she snapped angrily. It wasn't so surprising that he was here – he had developed a tendency of late to head to her flat on his return from a mission – but she was in no mood to deal with him, no matter what mood he was in.

He pouted at her, which just made her glare even more. "Get. Out!" she ordered him through gritted teeth. "Or I'll ring downstairs to Malcolm and have him come up here and throw you out."

He got to his feet and came around the end of the sofa to stand beside her. "If you throw me out, I won't be able to give you the gift I brought you." He ran a fingertip down her spine and she shivered involuntarily, hating herself for reacting to his touch, yet yearning to turn to him and kiss him forcefully.

"I'm not interested in gifts from you, Bond. The swathe of destruction you left in your wake during your latest mission means the only thing I want from you is for you get out. I spent three hours this afternoon being hauled over the coals by the head of the JIC thanks to you."

He growled and her head jerked up at the sound. "I didn't cause _any_ of that destruction," he said, his blue eyes seeming to spark with anger. "Laurentian's men shot out the tires of my car so that it went out of my control and crashed. And then they blew up my hotel." His glare was intense. "I barely got out in one piece, and I lost the gear I'd left in my room."

She looked up into his face and saw the fading bruises on his cheek and temple, and without conscious thought, she reached up to trace her fingers over the one on his cheek. "James. I'm so sorry for thinking the worst of you. Are you hurt?"

He reached up and clasped her wrist, holding her hand against his cheek. "I'm mending," he told her, "no thanks to Laurentian and his goons." 

She withdrew her hand and poured them both a drink, then handed him one of the glasses; as he took the glass his fingers brushed against hers, and her skin seemed to tingle. She watched him as he sat down, trying to assess if he carried any worse injuries than bruises or cuts like the one she saw on his left hand. 

He saw her looking and observed gruffly, "Don't worry, I've had some medical treatment."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said sincerely. "How bad were your injuries?"

"Does it matter?" he asked. "I've mended, more or less."

"Very well. I won't say any more on the subject." She swallowed a mouthful of Scotch, then said, "I'm assuming you brought the package back safely." 

"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't. I turned it over to Q-Branch before I came here."

"Good. Have you eaten?" she asked, and he shook his head, then swallowed another mouthful of Scotch. "Stay and eat with me, then."

He looked startled, which she supposed wasn't surprising since she'd never invited him to eat with her before. "Thank you."

She got to her feet, taking her now empty glass with her, and made her way through to the kitchen, where she swiftly set about assembling a meal. Her anger with Bond had drained away, she realised, exorcised by the knowledge that Laurentian and his men had very nearly killed him. She knew, of course, that every mission might well be his last – no one knew that better than she did – but he somehow always seemed to bounce back. Knowing how close he'd come, however, always worried her; while she wasn't prepared to admit it to him, she cared about him a good deal – more than was probably wise, and far more than she did any of her other agents.

She finished preparing the lamb chops, and slid the baking tray into the oven, then decided she should check with Bond what vegetables he wanted. She found him sprawled across the full length of her sofa, his shoes on the floor and his tie loosened; he was sound asleep, and she knew it was a measure of how much he trusted her that he didn't even stir when she approached him. She grabbed the large woollen throw that was folded across the back of the sofa, and spread it over him, then went back to the kitchen without waking him. She'd leave him to sleep until the food was ready.

007-007-007 

M woke Bond some forty minutes later, having left it to the last possible minute; she'd considered putting his share of the food onto a plate and sticking that in the oven to keep warm, but she knew that it would be rather dry if she did that, so she woke him instead.

He looked disorientated as he sat up, which she supposed wasn't very surprising, then scrubbed a hand over his face. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, his voice sounding raspy.

"About forty minutes," she told him. "I'm sorry I woke you, but dinner's ready."

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," he said, getting to his feet. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

"I assumed you needed the sleep," she said, crossing to the other end of the room, where she'd set the dining table for them to eat.

"Well, I did, I suppose," he conceded, following her.

"Sit down." She pointed at the chairs, and he gave her a very sketchy salute, then sat down. "Do you want some wine?"

He shook his head. "Better not. I had that whiskey earlier, and I'm taking painkillers still."

"Oh James." She shook her head at him, but didn't say anything. He was a grown man and he knew the risks involved in combining alcohol and painkillers.

She went to fetch the food, and within a few minutes they were eating, and he began giving her a brief report of his mission – the full report would come tomorrow, in the office.

By the time he had finished his report, they had also finished eating, and Bond had given her enough of the highlights of his mission for her to feel immense gratitude both that he'd come back in one piece, and that he'd got the job done.

They carried the empty plates and dishes out to the kitchen and at her suggestion, he made the coffee while she loaded the dishwasher. She was bending over to put the last item in when Bond stepped up behind her and as she straightened up again, she found his body pressed lightly against her own.

"I have a gift for you, Olivia," he told her, and his right arm came around her body holding a slim rectangular case covered in green Morocco leather. 

She was so intrigued she forgot to scold him for using her first name. She took the case from him, ignoring the fact that his arm immediately encircled her body, and opened it using the push button on the front.

"Oh James!" She couldn't help the exclamation when she saw the object within: a silver 'femme fatale' gun ring from late nineteenth century France. "Where on earth did you get this?" she demanded, turning in his arms to look up at him, and seeing an inordinately smug grin on his face.

"From the late Mr Laurentian," he told her. "It seems he was something of a collector of miniature firearms. When I found that I out, I went in as a buyer, looking for a special gift for my lover."

She started, and realised she was gaping at him. "You told him what?" she asked, her voice dropping low.

"Relax, Olivia," Bond said. "I just fed him a story I thought he'd believe, and he did. It was enough to get me into his villa, and locate the package you sent me to retrieve." He looked down at her, and his expression soured. "Are you going to tell me I shouldn't have taken it?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Good." He lifted out the ring and taking her right hand in his, slid it ring onto her second finger, twisting it around so that she could see the engraved words, 'Femme Fatale'. "You are by far the deadliest female I know," he said, and lifted her hand to kiss first the ring, then her knuckles, before he turned it over and mouthed her palm.

M fought the urge to moan loudly as a surge of desire swept through her body. His teeth scraped lightly across her skin, then he kissed the inside of her wrist, and she couldn't help angling her body towards his.

"Tell me to go home," he said after finally lifted his mouth from her arm.

"What?" She was dazed by the desire thrumming through her body, her veins alight with arousal.

"Tell me to go home, Olivia, otherwise I am going to take you to your bed and make love to you."

By way of answer, she pressed herself firmly against him, moaning softly at the hard press of his cock against her body. He ran his fingertips down her spine as he had earlier, and she shuddered with pleasure. "James."

The next moment he scooped her up in his arms and carried her, somewhat awkwardly, out of the kitchen and along the corridor to her bedroom. He lowered her carefully onto the bed, and she grabbed his arm and tugged him down beside her.

He looked startled by the manoeuvre, and she gave him a savage grin. "Forget making love to me," she told him in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "I want you to fuck me now."

"Yes ma'am!" He abandoned his suit jacket, tugged his tie free, then dragged his trousers off, his freed cock bouncing up eagerly. He pushed her skirt up out of the way, then dragged her French silk knickers off, before slipping two fingers into her sex.

"You need to use some lube," she told him matter-of-factly. "Otherwise you'll hurt me." He gave her a wide-eyed look and she gestured at the bedside cabinet. "Top drawer."

He tugged it open and found the lube, and used some to prepared her, before applying more to his stiff prick. M bent her knees, sliding her feet back towards her body, and he held her right knee as he began to ease his cock into her.

She clutched at his arm as he filled her, then shuddered with pleasure when he bottomed out. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head down so that she could kiss him, scraping her teeth over his lips before she pushed her tongue into his mouth. 

"Now fuck me, Mr Bond. And don't forget, I'm not made of bone china."

"Ma'am." He began to move and she grabbed hold of the bars of the bed above her head as she arched her body up to meet his thrusts. It felt good to be fucked by him, and she decided then and there that he'd have to stay the night because once wasn't going to be enough, and she could tell that he was going to come soon, just as she was. 

She watched him, and knew that they were going to have to be very circumspect if they were going to continue; her every move at SIS was always scrutinised by the men in the FCO and JIC, and if they thought for one moment that she was having a clandestine relationship with one of her agents, they would do their very best to get her fired. Too many of them resented the fact that a mere woman was in charge of the Secret Intelligence Service, and they frequently sought for ways to discredit her, but so far she had managed to hold onto her position. But she was damned if she was going to let fear of them dictate who she allowed into her bed. 

A moment later her reverie was shattered as James pushed her over the edge, then followed her, his cock pulsing inside her even as her muscles clenched tightly around it.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down, kissing him with a fierceness that surprised her as much as him. "I trust you don't have any other plans for this evening, Mr Bond?" she asked when she released him.

He smirked. "No ma'am."

"Good boy."

"If I'd known this was the sort of reaction giving you gifts provokes, I'd have started bringing you them years ago," he told her.

"Cheeky sod," she muttered, and he chuckled, looking satisfied. "Ordinary gifts won't do."

"I don't doubt that. An extraordinary woman like you deserves extraordinary gifts."

She shook her head at him, flattered despite herself. "Smooth talker," she said, and shoved at his shoulder so that he rolled over onto his back. She followed, shifting to straddle him. "Now be quiet and kiss me."

He smirked up at her, then cupped her face in his hands and drew her head down to kiss her with a tenderness that moved her.

_Oh dear. It looks like we've both got it bad,_ was her rueful thought before she put all such thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on kissing him back.


End file.
